Run To The Hills
by ClementineStarling
Summary: After all these years in Purgatory, Dean wakes feelings in Benny that he believed long lost...


Technically you don't need to sleep in Purgatory. Perhaps because you're already dreaming, sleepwalking through this world of never ending twilight. You feel the tiredness though, gnawing at your bones, numbing your muscles, just like you feel the hole in your belly that craves for food and for drink and for company. All the sensations and desires of the flesh, they're still there, somewhat dulled, somewhat less pressing than on Earth, but not forgotten, never forgotten. You can ignore them for a while, shove them to the back of your mind, while you run and you fight and you hack at the flesh and bone of your enemies. But once you stop to catch your breath, once you give in to your urges, they grow into monsters in their own right, ever devouring beasts tearing at your insides. It is Purgatory, after all.

Practically you don't get a time off though. There is always something after you, perhaps a few paces behind, lurking barely out of sight, but it's there, waiting for you to slip up. You cannot afford weakness, you have to be strong and sharp, that's what this place is all about. Overcoming your flaws and your imperfection, cleanse yourself from desire, be focused, be pure.

Benny had been a wolf among wolves for so long, he could not even remember how life had felt before, not until he met Dean. But now every time he looks at him, it stares him right in the face – the nature of humans, his own past, the love for life. Dean is only a man, untainted by the evil that has eaten at the souls of demons and beasts, he should not be here. There is brightness in him and hope and everything that Benny long had forgotten about.

And he sees that Purgatory is taking its toll, that Dean is tired to the bone and if he does not get to rest for a while, they will never make it to this damned angel nor to the gate back to the world of the living. That's why he insists on regular breaks, so Dean can doze off for a couple of minutes, recharge his batteries.

Benny is keeping watch while his companion lies down between the roots of a giant tree and curls up in a nest of fallen leaves. It's as comfortable as it gets in this land of monsters, he thinks as he leans his back against the rough bark and tries to concentrate on the little sounds of the forest. He reaches out with his senses to gather any sign of disturbance, of imminent danger but there is none. The woods are quiet and calm and only the wind is whispering in the trees and Dean's heart is beating, steadily, reassuringly, pumping blood through his veins.

Benny is listening to the thrum that has become the tune to his existence, the score of endless days. He recalls how it quickens in a fight, how he can read it like a book, predict Dean's next move; he's synced with this melody, it's the choreography of survival. When they fight, it's like dancing, they move in perfect unison, complementing each other.

He's never had that before – not with his undead family, not even with Andrea, though there is a similarity in his feelings for Dean that scares him. They're the life-line he holds on to, the anchor that keeps him from floating off or fading away or losing control. Pride fills him whenever he watches Dean kill with the precision of a predator and there is a treacherous warmth welling up inside him every time he sees him resting, vulnerability spread all over his features.

It makes him want to reach out and touch the curve of his lips, run his thumb over it, just shy of the sweet, wet heat beyond. It takes more and more of his willpower to withstand the temptation; he cannot take the risk of losing his ride out of here. Hell, he can't even bear the idea of being without Dean by his side. So he holds back and he prays that they'll find this bloody angel soon so he will be delivered from this evil, from the taunting thought of Dean's naked flesh on his, from the fantasy of his hands, travelling over bare skin…

Benny bites his lips, hard enough to draw blood and his hand clenches around the hilt of his blade until his knuckles turn white. His eyes stare blindly into the forest while he tries to keep his desires at bay and his hands by himself.

He's never told Dean about what their little stops do to him and how could he? How could he admit that while he's to watch over his companion's sleep, he's fantasising about ripping his clothes off? How could he find words for heat surging through him when they're that close? How could he speak of the arousal fogging his brain and pooling in his belly?

His desire is already a nuisance, if not even a risk to their safety. Talking about it would for sure make it worse. Benny sometimes wished he could just sneak away for a couple of minutes, to a place hidden from prying eyes, to take care of the problem, or at least dull the urge. The thought of his own hand, gliding over the length of his cock, teasingly at first, then faster and faster… well, it's not helping at all.

Beside him Dean is tossing and turning in his sleep. He never really comes to rest. The nightmares are always with him, haunting his dreams. „Dad", he whispers, fear and desperation so thick in his voice, it makes Benny's heart bleed. And then says his brother's name: „Sammy." Over and over again, like a mantra. He never calls for his angel though and Benny does not know what to make of it.

He understands that family is everything to Dean and that just like himself, he can't live without someone who gives him a reason to carry on, to fight another day. Vengeance is not enough to keep you from falling into the abyss.

Sometimes, when the day drags on and their feet are growing heavy, Dean talks about Lisa and Ben and what they meant to him, but as soon as he falls asleep they seem forgotten and the only ones left are ‚Dad' and ‚Sammy' who, in his dreams, are constantly in danger. The burden of being an older brother weighs heavily on Dean's shoulders, even here in Purgatory, when technically he only has to fend for himself, and Benny wishes he could take it off him for a while, relieve the pain.

„Sam?!" Dean wakes with a start, eyes wide with fear and for a moment some of the innocence of sleep lingers around his features. He looks incredibly young and Benny can't help but reach out and touch his shoulder.

„It's alright." he says. „I'm here."

Slowly the terror melts from Dean's face and it hardens into the usual façade of determination. „Let's go" he says, perhaps in an attempt to cover up his moment of weakness, and he gets up, holding out a hand to pull Benny to his feet.

Dean's palm is dry and warm, the grip of his fingers strong. Benny's body follows the pull nearly of its own accord and for a split second he thinks about just keeping in motion until he falls against Dean's chest. He doesn't do it of course. Still Dean looks at him suspiciously and he wonders what his expression may have given away, but then Dean's eyes go all wide and he realises, it's another monster crawling up behind him.

They've done this before, pretended they don't hear them coming and Benny cannot claim that he takes it too well. On the outside, sure, he appears calm, he has his pride after all, but on the inside he is all edgy and restless. He has to muster all of his self control to act so completely against his instincts. Not to speak of the trust issues. He might be drawn to Dean but that doesn't mean that he likes putting his head on the block for him like a goddamn sheep.

Dean winks at him, barely perceivable. He knows of course how it feels, being in Benny's place. How your hair stands on end, how your pulse quickens and the adrenaline spikes.

„So, where to?" Benny asks just as casually as he would have without the attacker.

Dean frowns a moment before he answers. „Run to the hills." he says.

Benny nods his agreement. As he understands it the phrase it not only code but also a musical reference. Dean tried to explain it to him once but gave up when he realised how long Benny's been out of the business. „In '62 the Beatles were the next big thing." Benny said and laughed at Dean's incredulous expression.

He tries to relax. Only a couple of seconds now; he can already sense the presence of another vamp in his back. Leaves rustle. Twigs crack. His fingers tighten around his weapon. Not yet. He watches Dean. He's been with him long enough to read the next move in his face, the slight twitch of his eye, the curl of his lips, the pointed look. Then, at last, when the attacker is nearly upon them, Benny lets himself fall to the ground, rolling to his feet in one smooth motion. Before he is upright again, a head lands in front of him in the leaves, cut off clean.

„Impressive." Benny says just before he swings his own blade upwards and this time it's Dean's turn to duck. He catches a large vamp squarely in the head, slicing it in half and the attacker slumps to the floor. Blood sprays from his weapon like water from a lawn sprinkler.

Thick, slow, fat drops of blood. Like everything in Purgatory it is lifeless and dead but still enough for Benny to slip into predator mode.

They fight, back to back, slashing away at throats and limbs, cutting down one attacker after the other, a whole nest of vampires as it appears. Fortunately they've no clue of battle formation, tactics or strategy; they just come at them, wave after wave like lambs to the slaughter

They kill like clockwork, precise, calculated, efficient.

In theory, this is perfection. Reality comes with a catch though: regardless how good you are, there's always something unforeseen. This time it's a tree root, that's just in the wrong place. Benny's foot gets caught under it and he stumbles and falls. Everything's a blur after that: the vamp he drags down with him on the edge of his blade, the snapping teeth just inches from his face, the struggle to break his neck and then Dean's face, pale as paper when he pulls the body from him.

„Are you alright?" he asks and in his tone there's a trace of his nightmares. Benny can smell the fear on him and it's only then that he understands the closeness of the call. His knees are a little wobbly as Dean drags him to his feet and this time his body is too sluggish to stop when upright. He tumbles into Dean who catches him in his arms. Warm, strong arms, Benny thinks, still somewhat dazed.

„Steady." Dean says, like talking to a horse while Benny's trying to find his footing. His hands rub soothingly over Benny's arms and the vampire looks up, realising how close their faces are, merely inches apart. If he leaned in only a little… he cannot of course - he has pondered this a thousand times already and he knows every reason, every argument against it – but still the lure is hard to resist and his unconscious treacherous: without realising he licks his lips, nerves, anticipation, hope all running into one.

Dean looks at him and beyond him and smiles a strange little smile as if somewhere lost on memory lane. „We will make it." he says, his voice rough with emotion. „We'll get out of here, I know it." And then he does something, that's so improbable, Benny's undead heart nearly stops – he leans in, just like Benny himself has planned to, and kisses him. It's only a dry brush of lips against lips, you could call it chaste, brotherly even, but it's enough to kindle Benny's desire into a roaring blaze.

His hands rise out of their own accord and they clutch at Dean's jacket, tightly, desperately, as if he feared Dean might dissolve into thin air, while he seeks for an answer in his face, and perhaps permission. „What was that?" he growls but he never gets his response for Dean's mouth is crashing upon his and this time there is no room for misunderstandings anymore.

This kiss is as proper as a kiss can possibly be – wet slide of tongues and hunger of lips – while their hands are tugging and pulling at their clothes, keen to find skin. Then Dean's palm presses against his crotch, greedy and warm, even through the fabric of his pants, and Benny can't help but moan at the touch.

„This is madness." he whispers between kisses yet unable to withdraw from Dean's embrace.

It is indeed madness to make out surrounded by corpses, out in the open without cover, with god knows what creatures lurking about. Even if just now it feels like Heaven, this is still Purgatory. One moment of carelessness can be your last.

„I know." Dean gasps into his mouth, hand rubbing fervently against the hardness in Benny's pants. „But we can't stop now."

Benny's fingers close around his wrist and to his surprise Dean's hand immediately goes slack under his grasp. Benny's cock throbs even more at the implications of this, but his head tells him that it's not the time to think with his dick. „Come on." he says. „We cannot stay here. Let's go. Look for high ground, a safer spot."

Dean nods. „Run to the hills." he says, grinning, and Benny suspects that their code has now once and for all changed its meaning.

* * *

_Yeah, what a stupid moment to stop, I agree. Unfortunately the rating requirements of fanfiction net do not allow material of a more explicit nature. But fear not, beloved reader, there is a sequel called _Rage And Ruin_ which you can find at archive of our own. (Somehow it seems I cannot link to that, no idea why, but the whole posting-process at ff net is unbelievably complicated anyhow, so I try not to waste too much thought on this particular inconvenience.)  
_


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